


Scars

by StarrySkies282



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 17:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10469862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarrySkies282/pseuds/StarrySkies282
Summary: I don't really know what I did here, but I hope you enjoy x





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what I did here, but I hope you enjoy x

We’ve all got scars. Both visible and invisible. In the flesh or on the mind and in the heart. _They_ carry them daily, bearing them without complaint. He from freeing a captive dragon, she from trying to save the boy who could not be saved. Jagged, they pierce the flesh, but each one, they tell a story. His harrowing tales of dragons on the Eastern Front and from expeditions to distant lands; her from encounters with all manner of dark wizards and curses. And these, though they are innumerable, they often find it’s those scars invisible to all— the ones that burn like a fire in the mind— that come back to haunt them. For him, the time he couldn’t save that erumpent, for her it was when her parents died: she would carry the weight of that pain until the time of her death. But one they both share—ones that leave marks on the body, mind, and heart, are the ones that were generated when they could not save the boy; when they fought hard, but still watched as he was blasted to smithereens. Mercilessly.

And now, together, as they sit side by side, in the warmth of each other’s arms, she traces the constellations with the freckles that speckle his work-toned, weather-beaten body, until her fingers reach a scar, just below his chest, in the shape of a diamond. She can feel his ribs beneath. She has never noticed this scar before, but something tells her this time, this time, it’s different. She stops drawing the constellation, he turns to look at her, quizzically.

“Newt, tell me the story…”

He stops her with a kiss, chaste but loving, in his own awkward way.

“I will, if you tell me about this,” he smiles, calloused hands brushing the curve of her hip, where Tina knew a long, jagged scar lay. She just smiles back in response, but they long since stopped depending on words for communication.

“Only if you go first,” she said, drawing the blankets closer around them as the sky grew darker. “I started last time.”

“Very well, anything for my dear porcupine,” he replied, rumpling her short hair as she lay her head in his lap, feet tucked underneath her. It had long been a pastime of theirs to recount the stories of their scars, and now, in the half-light, in a tent pitched in some unspecified location or other, was the time for another.

“It was 1916, I was on the Eastern Front, Theseus was somewhere on the Western Front. Although it was a muggle war, lots of us wizards went to fight—solidarity and all that. But equally, some went to fight on the side of the enemy. I was working in the beast division, mainly with the dragons. It was dark, it was late, and suddenly, out of nowhere there was all this canon-fire and the next thing I knew, Cassiopeia had been hit. Right in the chest.”

Here, Newt’s voice faltered, and he became a little choked. Tina gripped his hand for support, until he recovered, and breathing deeply, he continued.

“And I rushed over to try and save her, but it was too late. It must be something in that muggle-canon that made it worse. The combination of whatever they use to set it off and the way it reacts with dragons and their firepower. Then the hunters came. They were taking advantage of creatures being used in the war effort and were trafficking them. It was all I could to hold them off, to stop them taking Cassiopeia… even if she was… dead.” Newt choked on the last sentence, tears now brimming in his eyes. He had raised Cassiopeia from an egg, when he found her mother’s nest ransacked. And now… It had been over ten years and still the memory stung.

“Oh, right the rest of the story… I was so wrapped up in trying to deter the hunters that I didn’t see the bullet… or hear the gunshot sounding… or even the enemies invade. But then, the next thing I knew, I was lying in an ambulance tent, a day later, with a patched-up chest and leg and feeling rather sore.” Ended Newt quite suddenly, burying his face in Tina’s shoulder.

“Oh Newt, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright… it’s just… losing a creature: it’s like losing family”

The two sat there, for a time, her comforting him, running her hands through his ruddy hair, until he sat up and looked her straight in the eye.

“Now it’s your turn… but if—”

“No, it’s only fair,” she replied, knowing it wouldn’t be as painful to recall as it was for him.

“This one?” she said, as he moved his hand in a circular motion, outlining the jagged form of the scar.

“It happened fairly recently, actually, about three months ago. Some Grindelwald-sympathising fanatic was terrorising No-Majs, it was shortly after you went back to England, and we were on high alert, expecting something like this to happen as soon as it was made known we had Grindelwald locked up. The man— Russian, I believe— entered a no-maj department store, and started attacking anyone and everyone who crossed his path. By the time we got there, he had killed half a dozen people and injured many more. The rescue team went to aid the No-Majs and repair the department store, before obliviating them. Graves—the real Graves—, Winchester and I went off to try and apprehend the man, but he was too skilled, too quick. He knew a lot of the dark curses, some that even I didn’t recognise, and it was one of them that hit me, burning away and eating at my flesh. The healers said there was nothing they could do, after cauterizing the wound with dittany. Curse wounds don’t heal, you know.” Tina finished simply, now feeling short of breath.

Whilst it wasn’t painful recounting the story, it still angered her about the loss of innocent No-Majs lives that day that could have been avoided. “We didn’t even catch him. He just vanished into the night, with no trace. The investigative team can’t find a single clue. Of him or Grindelwald, he escaped shortly afterwards.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay, Tina. But why didn’t you tell me about any of this in your letters?” Newt asked, studying her face.

“I could hardly write _that_ in a letter… it’s confidential information,” she replied, punching him lightly on the arm.

“It’s just…” Tina stopped, looking slightly crestfallen now.

“What?” asked Newt, his voice becoming softer, sensing something was wrong.

“I look at myself, sometimes, and all I see— all I see, are these scars, and I can’t help wondering… how it is that you could love me when I’m so disfigured.”

Newt stared at her, incredulously.

“Tina, I’m only going to say this to you once, and I want you to listen carefully, you need to know this. Your scars are what make _you_ you. They’re a constant reminder of your bravery and selflessness— your willingness to help. You should be proud to bear them. I get it, there are some days when it all just feels long, but we can fight this. Together. And as for how I could love you: I love you for you. Tina you’re beautiful, smart, funny, witty, loyal… the list goes on. And I’m going to remind you of this every day until I die. Tina, goddamn it, you’re beautiful and I wish you could see it."

He looked up at her, and saw the tears leaking out of her eyes: but they were tears of happiness. Of joy. Of relief.

“Porpentina Esther Scamander, you put shame to all the stars, and I wouldn’t change you for the worlds.”

He cupped her face in his work-roughened yet tender hands, staring deeply into those eyes. Those wide, soulful eyes he vowed he would never grow tired of as long as he lived.

And in the rapidly fading purple twilight, at the entrance to their tent pegged in the middle of nowhere, as the fireflies danced and the crickets sang, he leaned in and kissed her tenderly, she responding to his touch, a flame kindling within her.

“My Newt,” she whispered, for his ears only to hear and his heart only to feel.

“My Tina,” he said, tucking a loose strand of her dark hair behind her ear.


End file.
